


Silence, patience, pining in anticipation

by rickyisms



Series: Ongoing Kent Parson Gender Studies Thesis [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, absolute dumbass boyfriend connor whisk, gender stuff, kent gets a dress, supportive boyfriend connor whisk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 00:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30013485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rickyisms/pseuds/rickyisms
Summary: Kent thinks he maybe wants to try on that dress
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Connor "Whiskey" Whisk
Series: Ongoing Kent Parson Gender Studies Thesis [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2207880
Comments: 5
Kudos: 59





	Silence, patience, pining in anticipation

**Author's Note:**

> this is wildly self indulgent but i guess y'all can read it too.

“I need to find a birthday present for my mom, can we make a quick detour?” Whiskey asks. 

They’ve just been wandering around the mall, so of course Kent says yes. 

“What are you getting her?” Kent asks. 

“I dunno, probably a blouse or something,” Whiskey says. 

“A blouse or something?” Kent teases, “The woman who gave birth to you and all you can come up with is ‘a blouse or something’?” 

“She said she needed a new one!” Whiskey says, defensive with a smile on his face, “It’s practical.”

Kent rolls his eyes but follows Whiskey into one of the stores. He walks a few paces behind Whiskey. He wanders through the racks of clothes while Whiskey looks for something. Kent sees a lacy, low cut, white top, and he laughs. 

“Hey Whiskey!” He shouts from across the store, and then he holds up the shirt, “How’s this for your mom’s birthday.”

“Shut up,” Whiskey rolls his eyes. Whiskey marches across the store and punches Kent in the shoulder. 

“Don’t think she could pull it off?” Kent doesn’t let the smirk fall from his face. 

“I hate you,” Whiskey says, he doesn’t mean it, “Put that back and stop shouting,” he knocks his shoulder into Kent’s and moves around to the other side of the rack. 

Kent takes another look at the shirt, he rubs the lace between his fingers before he puts it back on the rack. 

He keeps wandering. He doesn’t make a habit out of wandering in women’s clothing stores, but he has the excuse of looking for something for Whiskey’s mom to keep him from introspecting too hard about the way his eyes catch on a blazer with sequins along the trim. 

The dress is gold, a light gold, rose gold? Kent thinks maybe this colour is called rose gold. It’s covered in glitter that catches in the light. It’s floor length with a slit running almost all the way up one side. The straps are thin and when Kent imagines the dress on someone, he sees his own shoulders. 

“Hey,” Whiskey’s hand is on his shoulder.

“Oh, hey,” Kent says, and he turns around. He can feel that his cheeks are probably a little bit pink right now.

Whiskey holds up a gift bag, “Got the blouse,” he says. 

“Oh cool,” Kent says. 

His eyes drift from Whiskey to where the mannequin’s leg sticks out of the slit in the dress. 

“I am  _ not  _ getting that for my mom,” Whiskey says. 

Kent laughs, not nearly enthusiastically and not nearly long enough. 

“That’s not what you were thinking,” Whiskey says quickly. 

“What, no, that’s totally what I was thinking,” Kent tries to cover for himself. 

“ _ You  _ want the dress, don’t you?” Whiskey says, his voice is low. He sounds a little bit amused, not that Kent might want to wear a dress, just that the fact is making him blush so intensely. 

He can feel the blush rising from his neck all the way up to his ears. 

“I think you should try it on,” Whiskey whispers, voice low, lips dangerously close to Kent’s ears, “You’d look hot,” he adds.

The hair on the back of Kent’s neck stands on edge and he swallows a lump in his throat. 

Kent shakes his head, “That’d be weird,” Kent says. 

“Indulge me,” Whiskey winks. 

He’s being cheeky now, Kent thinks, trying to embarrass him or to see how red his boyfriend’s face can really get. And you know what? Fuck it, Kent can play this game too. 

So he finds a dress on the rack that looks like it’s roughly his size and he tosses it over his shoulder. The changing rooms are unattended, which Kent says a silent prayer of thanks for. He doesn’t know if he could handle having to explain what was going on here. 

His bravado disappears the second he steps into the dressing room. 

“You stay outside,” Kent says, his voice smaller than he meant for it to be when he turns to face Whiskey. 

Whiskey nods and leans against the wall opposite to the room. 

Kent looks at himself under the bright lights of the changing room. He looks at his regular clothes, a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt, his watch is on his right arm where it always is. Then he looks down at the dress, it feels smooth and light in his arms. And he decides that he can’t look at himself in the mirror while he tries on the dress. He turns to face the back wall, away from the mirror on the back of the door. He takes a breath, it’s stupid to feel this nervous about a piece of fabric, and yet…

He kicks off his sneakers and then unbuttons his jeans and shimmies out of them. He pulls his t-shirt over his head and adds it to his pile of clothes on the floor. He looks up at the dress hanging from the hook on the wall. He pulls it from the hanger and sighs. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to pull it over his head or step into it. He decides to pull it over his head. He bunches it up from the bottom and without thinking too hard, he pulls it over his head. He pulls the straps over his shoulders and he lets the dress fall. It hangs just above his ankles and he can feel the air on his leg where the slit is cut. He feels it hugging his waist, hanging off his hips. He doesn’t look down and he doesn’t turn around to see the mirror. 

Instead he clears his throat, “You can come in,” he doesn’t turn around until Whiskey’s standing in front of the mirror. 

He sees Whiskey’s eyes wide. Kent thinks for a moment that it’s horror, that he must look terrible, but then he sees Whiskey bite his lip, he sees the way that his mouth hangs open slightly and his breath hitches.

“Does it look okay?” Kent asks, still nervous to look past Whiskey at his own reflection in the mirror. 

“You’re so-” Whiskey cuts himself off and bites his lip again, “Holy shit,” he says. His voice is breathy. 

Kent’s looking down at the floor. 

Whiskey takes a step forward. He puts his hand on Kent’s shoulder, he slips a finger under the thin strap and he just… looks. 

“It’s a good look,” Whiskey whispers. 

“Really?” Kent asks. 

“Like a really good look,” Whiskey says, “Like I am very  _ very  _ into this.”

“I haven’t looked yet,” Kent confesses. 

“You should,” Whiskey says. He moves so that he’s standing behind Kent. All Kent has to do now is look at the mirror, to take his eyes off the floor. He feels Whiskey’s hands on his shoulders and he takes a breath and he looks. 

He sees his socks first, realizes how strangely vulnerable he feels to be standing barefoot in a changing room. His eyes follow the line of the dress up to his waist, it’s cinched, so it hugs him there. He’s always had a narrow waist, the dress makes it look narrower. He realizes that he kind of likes it. The neckline plunges and his collarbones look more pronounced under the thin straps. He moves his leg, standing how the mannequin had been positioned. He sees the shitty little stick and poke on his ankle, the hair on his calves and his thighs, all surrounded by the smooth, shiny fabric. He moves with him, brushing against his bare skin. 

Kent finds himself at a complete and total loss of words. 

Whiskey’s hand runs down his shoulder and over his arms. Kent follows his fingers in the mirror, watching as they graze his tattoos. Whiskey’s right hand stops at Kent’s wrist and he slips his hand into Kent’s. Kent sees the blush spreading over his cheeks and his nose. 

“You are very hot,” Whiskey says. 

And Kent finally laughs, his face breaks into a smile and Whiskey presses his cheek to Kent’s and then rests his head on his shoulder. 

Whiskey wraps the hand that’s not holding Kent’s around his waist. Kent likes the way that looks. 

“Not weird?” Kent asks. 

Whiskey shakes his head gently. 

“You look like something out of a dream,” he says, “Like… a very late night private dream,” he says. 

Kent laughs again, “You’re gross,” he says. 

“It’s a very sexy dress,” Whiskey says with a shrug. 

Kent looks at himself again. It  _ is.  _ The way it hangs on his body feels right, the way the slit comes up to his mid thigh, the way his leg juts out just slightly… it’s a lot. 

“Even with my hairy legs,” Kent says, an attempt at a joke. 

Whiskey, however, takes this deadly seriously. 

“Baby, especially with your hairy legs.”

Kent takes a step forward, he turns slightly. It takes a second after he moves for the dress to stop moving and brushing against his legs. Kent sways from side to side, rocking back and forth on his feet. Whiskey takes a step back and lets him revel in it. The longer he looks at himself, the more right he feels. 

“Wow,” Kent says. 

“Yeah,” Whiskey says. 

“It feels a little bit…” Kent says. 

The truth is that it feels right, it feels good, but he also knows that’s not how a dress is supposed to make him feel. No one ever told him he was allowed to feel like this about any clothes, let alone a shiny golden floor length evening gown. Not by a long shot. 

“Isn’t it weird?” Kent asks again. All he can think of is the word weird to describe the way his stomach twists. 

“I think you look amazing,” Whiskey says, repeating the sentiment, “Seriously.”

He takes Kent and pulls him towards himself. He puts both of his hands on his hips and runs them over the side of his torso. Kent closes his eyes at the feeling of Whiskey’s hands through the thin fabric. Whiskey lowers his head and mouths at Kent’s neck. One of his hands drops lower, Kent feels his hand on his thigh pressing underneath the fabric, catching on the slit in the dress. 

“You’re allowed to be into this,” Whiskey says, “Because I am very into it too.”

“I think I am,” Kent says. He drops his shoulder slightly and the strap falls. And that’s… hmm? That’s nice. 

Kent clears his throat. 

“We should head out,” he says, clearing his throat, trying to clear his mind. 

“We should get the dress,” Whiskey says. 

Kent’s always liked it when they say we. 

“Nah,” Kent says, “It’s not…”

Whiskey cocks his head to the side, his hand rests on Kent’s waist and Kent closes his eyes. 

“Yeah, okay,” he says, “I want it, we’ll get it.”

Whiskey pulls Kent in for a quick kiss and then he slips out of the changing room without another word. Kent takes a deep breath. 

He’s still not sure if he’s supposed to step out of the dress or pull it over his head. He figures he’ll learn. 

**Author's Note:**

> anyway, whiskey is in fact, That Into his boyfriend in a dress but he's also just That Into his boyfriend in general


End file.
